Coming Undone
by Takigawa Aki
Summary: Dino is caught by longing bordering on obsession with the exotic dancer Shishi. When he finally meets the person off-stage he finds that Hibari Kyouya is nothing like his wildest dreams - he's far better. D18 AU. Lemon, slight fluff


Am I like, trying to keep the kink meme living single-handedly? Jeez. I ought to work on my other fics in the works, too, you know! And school. But who needs to do school? And, uh…obviously, this is AU…Oh yeah. The title's pun is intended. ;3  
P.S. Uh…I think this turned out too long to post on the meme. =w= Yep. Way too long. By the way. Quick little note. In Japan, "going to the hips" means that a person is losing the strength in their legs or knees, usually due to some sort of eroticism. Basically, they're so seduced their legs buckle. LOL.

**Warnings: Yaoi, exotic dancing, leering and drooling, Speedos, drunkenness, possible OOC Hibari, steamy showers, erotic massage, and freeloaders**

**Soundtrack: **Closer to the Edge by **30 Seconds to Mars**

**Kateikyoushi would have a lot more yaoi if I owned it.  
BETA'd by aimeeshii**

**Coming Undone**

It was something about the way he swayed his hips and the milky colour of his skin under dark lights. His washboard abs would move in the most entrancing of ways, his arms forming a hypnotic shape that drew watching eyes to the edge of their seats. It was how his lips would part when he threw his head back, and the touch of his hands to his hips. It was how his hair swayed but kept its shape and the dampness at the nape of his neck when his set began to wind to a close. Maybe it was the irreverent way he accepted tips, the band on his thigh always full of bills, and his wink and blown kiss when someone stuck a particularly high bill there. There was something in the subtle curves of his slender, fit body, and how sweat rolled in perfect droplets down the chiselled planes of his musculature, drawing the eye with it.

But what had gripped me the most were those eyes, thickly lashed and sensual. They seemed to glow in a way even contacts could never achieve. It made me think of mercury, beautiful liquid slippery to the touch, that one could never grasp, that was sheer poison despite its innocent appearance. Mercury was almost as killer as his irides.

Though dozens of dancers were performing at any given time, each with their own pole and raised floor, somehow he made it all about him every time he stepped up to begin his set. My breath always hitched. I had his schedule memorized so I could never miss a single swish of his hips. Once he hadn't gone on at his time and I'd nearly panicked; when I asked a waitress, she said he'd switched times with another dancer and would be doing a set later that night. I went out for three hours and returned in time to see him.

I stepped up to the stage and proffered a bill. He gave me a little smile that said, _I recognize you_, and bent one knee enough for me to tuck it into the garter. He planted a light kiss on my cheek that caught me by surprise, nearly making me dizzy, and my hand lingered too long at his hip. He smacked it playfully and danced away, but not before giving me a sly little wink.

I wanted him with every fibre of my being.

After the set, he disappeared into the dressing room, as he always did. He didn't spare a backward glance at his captive audience. Despite the crowd and the knowledge that others tucked bills into his garter until it bulged and ogled him as he danced, I always felt that it was only for me. Every dance left only us in the room. The others faded away and out of existence while he danced. Every step had to be a spell to bind me so tightly.

I'd tried to catch him after the set sometimes, when I'd worked up the courage. Usually he was already gone by the time my nerve was set, or he was refusing visitors. This time I was lucky.

For a moment I barely recognized him as he walked out the back of the club, but his petite stature gave him away. His hair fell more naturally now, suddenly endearing rather than ethereal. He wore no makeup, no silver paint above his eyes or on his lips; instead I could see his normal face, and it was more real than dreamlike. It only grasped me more as it finally hit home to me that, yes, _this man was real._

His head turned as he noticed me working up the courage to go speak with him. I thought I saw his lips turn downwards before he began walking to the bus stop. I blinked and hurried to draw up beside him. "Kyouya," I greeted hopefully.

He stopped suddenly, as if surprised. I couldn't read his expression when he looked at me. "How do you know my name?" he asked softly.

I bit my lip. "I asked. A while ago."

Kyouya shook his head, frustrated, and hovered near the bench at the bus stop. "You don't know me," he said suddenly. "So don't presume to call me by my given name. If you want to name me, call me Hibari."

I blinked but nodded slowly. "Okay," I answered curiously. "Hibari it is, then. I'm Dino. Dino Cavallone."

"Why do you think I care?"

I flinched in shock at his tone and his words. This was nothing like how I'd imagined, but somehow I felt the stirrings of growing affection in my chest. "I suppose you wouldn't," I said after a moment of thought. "But I want you to know. Have you eaten dinner yet, Hibari?"

He turned to me and scowled. "I dance," he spat, "but nothing else. It's a living. The moment I take off the Speedo, I'm not Shishi anymore, alright? I don't know you and you don't know me. Now get lost. All you want is Shishi, and you're not going to get him."

I stood rooted to the spot, disbelieving for a long time. He was glaring at me with those unbelievable irides. "I've been coming to watch you dance for a long time," I finally admitted, "because I didn't know anywhere else that I could see you."

Kyouya scoffed. "You're probably just about to get old, aren't you? Do you need a young stripper to stroke your ego one last time before you can't get it up anymore?"

That made me flinch. He was so different from the sensual beauty on the stage. "I am older than you," I sighed, "so what does it hurt to get a drink? I'd like to get to know you, Hibari, so…maybe you won't mind me once you get to know me, too."

His expression was disbelieving. Then he sighed. "By now everyone has slipped up and called me Shishi," he said quietly, "or gotten mad at me." He narrowed his eyes up at me. "Why aren't you acting like a scumbag, too?"

I wasn't sure whether to be flattered or chagrined, but somehow I managed both. "I don't want that," I told him sincerely. I raised a hand and brushed a stray piece of blonde hair behind my ear. "Maybe that's a Japanese thing. I'm from Italy, and when I say I want to get to know _Hibari_, I mean it."

He scowled at me and I thought I'd gone too far. "Fine," he growled. "But you're paying for the drinks. And stop giving me puppy eyes. They're disgusting."

I was giving him puppy eyes? Well, apparently I was, because his scowl didn't go away until I'd focused on smoothing out my expression. "Alright," I said with a wide smile. "We can walk if you want. It's just down the street." I'd taken a taxi to the club like every night, though he seemed to be a bus rider. Maybe I could pay for cab fare to bring him home, too, because it was getting late and would be midnight or after when we got out of the pub—if all went well, of course.

"Sure," he grunted and, without ceremony, started walking. His perpetually bad mood was beginning to be amusing. Did he have a chip on his shoulder or was this his way of warding off stalkers? "But don't think I owe you because you're paying."

"I'd never think that," I admonished softly. "I'm offering to pay, after all." My smile was sheepish. "And I think you wouldn't let me get away with trying anything, anyway."

"You're right," he snapped. We fell silent for a few minutes, walking at a nice pace that wasn't too slow or too hurried down the sidewalk.

A car passed on the street, its windows open and bass booming at us loud enough to give me a headache. Hibari snarled as it passed and shook his head in obvious disdain. It made me smile a bit, and he turned his glare on me.

"If you try anything, I'll bite you to death," he warned as we walked into the bar. I nodded patronizingly, inwardly unsure what exactly to make of that kind of threat, and motioned him to a seat at a booth off in a corner. He eyed the spot a moment before sitting and crossing his arms.

I learned something particularly interesting about my Kyouya at that bar. He couldn't hold his liquor. And though he didn't talk very much normally, it wasn't because he didn't have anything to say; it was because he just didn't bother with anything he deemed 'unnecessary and inefficient.' That was for 'herbivores.' (And was that a Japanese thing I was missing out on since I wasn't native, or was it just one of his seemingly innumerable quirks?)

"So why are you even a dancer?" I questioned quietly over a bottle of beer. He was drinking sake that he'd insisted on having from a traditional cup instead of a can. The waitress had, had to go rooting around in the back before she returned with one, looking harried. I gave her a little grin of amusement as she scuttled away before we could come up with any other demands.

He looked for a moment up at a television which showed that week's baseball game. Probably home recorded judging by the qualit, or else their television was on the fritz. "My mother was one," he said with a shrug as if it was nothing. "She never mentioned my father. When I was little I always heard her excuse to her sister, that it was relatively easy if you were good at it and had great tips." The tilt at the corner of his lips might have been a smile but looked rather grim to me. "Then when I was a teenager I got shipped to my aunt's because she got taken in for drug use. I didn't have the patience for idiots in college when I got in, so I stopped showing up and couldn't find a job anywhere else." His lips fell down again to thin wryly. "So I followed my mother's footsteps." It might have been amusement at the irony that made his eyebrow twitch, but I doubted it.

The minor speech had me taken aback as well. It had to be twice what he'd said all night. That was how I figured out he got talkative when he was drunk. Like five minutes later when he interrupted me to glare at the TV screen.

"I've never understood sports," he said disdainfully. "The goal is to establish victory, but one's pride is in the ability to win the game. What use is the game? To hit a ball with a bat? Why is it so important? Your pride should be in something practical, and if you compete do it with that." He shook his head. "Herbivores play games."

I had to struggle to keep from chuckling. His deadpan expression together with the odd words was enough to make me bite my tongue. "I guess you're right," I told him, feigning equal seriousness.

Before I knew it his palm was an inch from my face. I could feel my breath rebounding from it to hit my lower lip, and his scent flooded my nose. He lowered his hand slowly and I could see just how close a call it had been to a palm strike to my nose. I gulped. His glare was steely. "Don't patronize me," he said in a low voice, gaze never leaving mine as he took another drink.

"I think you've had enough of that," I said with a tiny smile. He narrowed his eyes and, sheerly out of spite, took another sip. I bit my cheek. "Do you enjoy it?" I asked suddenly. "Dancing?" _Stripping?_

He stared at me for a long moment as if deciding whether or not to answer, but I knew by now that tiny almost-blink he gave meant he would. "It's a job," he finally said, expression cold. "Like any other. On the stage I'm an actor, like any other actor. When I get off I can be me again." He took a swig of his sake and looked pointedly at the door. I worried that I'd said something wrong, perhaps reminded him of his earlier reservations about coming, and reached for my wallet to pay for our drinks.

I thought I saw him glance over while I pulled out the paper cash. His brows furrowed a moment and I looked over at him while I tucked my wallet away again.

He understood my curious look and scowled. "Most men who talk to me have a lot of cash in their wallets," he mumbled. I grimaced.

"Does that change how you think about me?" I asked carefully. It worried me that he'd seemed displeased when he saw I wasn't carrying a load of money to wave about. I made an honest living; I wasn't flush.

That made him purse his lips. He didn't seem to want to reply for a moment before he stood, heading for the door because I'd put the money down on the table to be collected by the waitress. "They bring a lot of cash to impress me," he finally grunted. "Like they can buy me or that all my pride will disappear if they have enough of it…"

I stopped just outside the door, surprised. He seemed to sense my staring and glanced back at me with an annoyed look. "Sorry," I stuttered quickly and lurched to take a step, nearly making a face plant that he pointedly ignored. What an odd guy. So it was a good thing that I wasn't rich? Or was there some hidden meaning I wasn't catching? Was he talking in riddles just to throw me off and make me go home? That thought made me dig my heels in more. I'd gotten him on what was practically a date, at least in my mind, and had a suspicion he'd said more to me than his grand total of confessions in the last decade or so. It stroked my ego, admittedly.

"Can I take you home?" I blurted. He stopped, stiffly turning to me with what looked like anger. I grimaced and shook my head quick. "No—sorry! I meant…" I whacked myself on the forehead, which earned a look of chagrin. "I meant, get a cab and…well, it's late so I thought it might be hard to get a bus and you might like if I went with you on the way…"

That was it. I'd blown it right there. I stumbled over the words, trying to defuse the misunderstanding and keep my cool at the same time. It failed. Horribly.

"Fine." I gaped at his answer. "You're amusing enough, Herbivore." He raised his chin, expression unreadable but eyes glittering in amusement while he walked towards the street. "A taxi. As long as you pay."

I nodded, my shoulders sloping in relief. I gave a quick sigh, thanking the gods of good fortune, and hurried behind him. Hope wanted to make me think maybe he was beginning to like me, but I didn't want to get there only to find he was only after a free ride. We'd see what happened afterwards.

And it went surprisingly well. He actually asked the driver to turn on the radio, which at first I worried meant he didn't want to talk to me, but soon found that he was just quietly enjoying the music. It was an old Japanese station, though not traditional—golden oldies. It was endearing. I'd have to remember which songs he seemed to particularly like. His eyebrow would twitch when they started and he'd tap his finger subtly on his hip to the rhythm of the music. I wanted to replace that hand with mine but knew I couldn't push my luck now. All had gone well. I couldn't ruin it because of some egotistical come-on.

When the cabbie pulled up outside of the apartment, I hesitated. Would he think I was being presumptuous if I got out or would it be rude to stay in the cab? He opened the door and got out before giving me a vaguely curious, vaguely impatient look that answered my question. With a grin I began to get out, but the cabbie stopped me. "You get out, you pay," he told me matter-of-factly. "Even if you're going to get back in."

I nodded, blushing in abashment that I hadn't thought about that earlier, and handed him the money. He nodded and I stood, closing the door behind me. Kyouya raised one eyebrow archly before turning to head up some stairs on the outer wall of the building. I had to stop myself from asking where he was going. Was he inviting me, or being odd? I'd expected some word of goodbye so I had to assume he wanted me to follow. I gave the taxi driver a quick nod so he knew he could leave and headed up, hoping that wasn't a mistake.

Though it was dark, I could tell this wasn't the most effluent neighborhood. The building and those around it seemed to be in only vaguely acceptable repair, paint faded and roofs often patched in at least two colours to create blotches that made past repairs obvious. The railing on the stairs was rusted so I didn't bother using it. Kyouya was on the landing of the second floor; the stairs continued up to the third and fourth. He was unlocking his door, which was in noticeably better shape than the wall around it simply because the paint seemed unchipped. Maybe a new job. He didn't seem like he'd like sloppiness. It opened under his hand and gave only a quiet creak. There was no way it didn't screech without some good oil applied generously. So he did take care of it.

It struck me that he might have a roommate, but I couldn't picture him as the type. He didn't look at me as he walked in and flipped on a light, which I took to mean he didn't disapprove of my presence, and I followed carefully. In the doorway I pulled off my shoes and slid on the spare slippers set out for guests. It was puzzling that he even had them, but I suppose he was practical like that. It was kind of dizzying.

He'd done the same already and was headed for the kitchenette, where he got a glass and filled it with water. His look at me was questioning, and I gave a little nod. My mouth was dry, but it wasn't because of the alcohol.

While the apartment didn't scream rich or even in good shape, it was a far cry from the outside. The walls had a solid coat of cream paint and the window on the far wall had clean blinds pulled down over it. The cupboards in the nook on the right were tasteful and modest; the counter was clean and there was a small stove and oven. There was no microwave, I noticed curiously. On the left was a hall that must have led to the bedroom and bathroom. It was a relatively stereotypical Japanese apartment, with a single low-set table in the middle of the room and a medium television in one corner near the window.

I realized he was holding out the glass of water and I took it with a smile of apology at my distractedness. He said nothing, only got himself one as well and drained it efficiently. I wondered if he was nervous, too. It was so hard to read him.

He disappeared down the hall a moment before peering back at me impatiently. I jumped and set down the glass on the counter beside the sink before hurrying after him, unsure what he wanted now. When I walked into the room he'd ducked into—one of two doors, both at the same side of the hall—he was hanging his jacket up in his closet. From that angle I was provided a rather impressive view of his backside, which was flattered by his well-fitting black jeans, but I hesitated to make it too obvious that I was ogling him. When he began to pull off his shirt I sucked in a breath, suddenly unsure he had actually wanted me to enter the room.

Kyouya looked puzzled when he turned back to me, the shirt folded and put into a small hamper in the closet, and walked towards me. "This is what you wanted, isn't it?" he asked flatly as he laid his hands on my chest. I stared down at him; my jaw had to have been dragging the ground.

"I—no! I mean—_yes_, but—"

"Then what's the problem?" Suddenly his tone was impatient. He pushed me back towards the futon and I nearly stumbled.

"I didn't think you wanted this, Kyo—"

"Hibari," he interrupted pointedly, advancing on me. The way his chest rippled as he reached out to tug at the hem of my shirt made me gulp hard.

"I thought you said you didn't want this, Hibari," I breathed, struggling with the words.

"I changed my mind." When he tugged my shirt up I couldn't stop myself from raising my arms to allow him to get rid of it. He chucked it in the corner, not bothering to fold it like he had his own. I noticed that distractedly as his hands began to roam my stomach and began up towards my chest. "Are you going to turn it down now?"

A shiver ran down my spine as he pinched one of my nipples. I gave a little sigh at that, disgusted at my own lack of self-control. "Are you sure?" I managed to ask. It took all my concentration to keep from tackling him then and there.

He was quiet a moment. His hands stilled on my chest and I wondered if I'd said the wrong thing. I looked at his face, almost scared to see his expression, and found that his eyes had narrowed. I frowned, thinking I'd offended him somehow, when he reached up and twisted a lock of my hair around his finger. "You'd actually stop if I said I wasn't sure," he said slowly, as if the words were alien to him.

Disappointment made me heave a little sigh, but I nodded. "Of course." My voice was a little husky, and I'd definitely have a problem to take care of in the bathroom, but I wasn't going to molest him, after all…

It took a moment to register when he grabbed the belt loops of my jeans and used them as leverage to fling me back on the futon. I gasped, not sure what he was doing until he straddled my hips and laid his hands on my chest. "You're not going to kick me out now?" I asked incredulously. He snorted as if I was being ridiculous and leaned down to press our lips together in a hungry kiss.

I hesitated, wondering if it would be bad to make a move of my own, before I couldn't stand it anymore and wrapped my arms around his waist to pull him down further until our chests touched. His rib rubbed my nipple a moment, making me groan. He deepened the kiss in response, his tongue invading my mouth aggressively, prodding and chafing at my tongue. My hands had wandered up his shoulder blades and I rubbed his spine softly, earning a shiver from him. His tongue met a sensitive spot beneath my tongue and I groaned in surprise. The vibrations only seemed to make him hungrier.

He reached for his belt and undid it deftly, fingers nimble from stripping. It was breathtaking how quickly he was able to rid himself of the jeans while still maintaining his balance, leaving him in only boxers. I'd seen his body while he danced, taken in every little detail and pretended I was the only one watching and seeing the same; but there was something different when he was straddling my hips and I could reach out and _touch_ him and feel those curves and dips and planes with my own fingers and really was the only one who could see him this way now. He seemed to sense my sudden lust and his lips curled upwards against mine.

I leaned up on my elbows just as he began to pull off my jeans as well. I had thought he wouldn't be quite so good at that, but he was; I barely even realized when they were gone. The hint at experience had jealousy coursing through my blood, making me want him even more, now, making him mine. His thighs brushed me through the boxers, making heat rise there dizzyingly fast, and after a moment he seemed to be doing it on purpose. His hips rocked very subtly so I was caught there beneath his thighs, victim to the friction of fabric against fabric against skin. A little moan left my lips as heat seemed to flood my system.

Then he was tugging at his boxers. I reached out and grabbed his wrists, and he stared at me. "Not so fast," I breathed huskily. "We have all night." I hoped my wink was sexy, because if it wasn't I must have been the biggest idiot on the planet. He seemed taken aback by the idea but eventually he leaned back down to press our lips together, this time a little less urgently. He seemed suddenly unsure of himself, like he was in uncharted waters. The thought had me grinning.

Before he could react I'd rolled over on top of him, pinning him beneath me. He grunted in shock and began to try and regain his position but I stilled him by fastening my lips around his nipple and sucking none too gently. He gasped and his shoulders quivered a moment while I let up on the pressure and teased him with my tongue, drawing a spiral away from the hard nub. He sighed in pleasure when I kissed his navel and sucked lightly on his hipbone. Kyouya's foot tapped, warning me that he was anxious, but I wasn't going to go too fast and lose some of the build-up. Foreplay _made_ sex. And a sizable part of me wanted him beneath me as long as I could keep him there, under my dominance and begging for me to take him. I would have him there before I even took off my boxers.

When I nipped at the crook of his neck and shoulder his back arched suddenly. _A soft spot? _I grinned at the discovery and worked my way up his throat before returning, lapping lightly at the skin, teasing and brushing and lightly caressing with my lips and tongue. His breath had become hitched and his chest rose and fell hard. I could almost feel his heart pounding through my own chest pressed against his. I sucked at the spot teasingly, barely putting any pressure, pleased at his taste. He must have washed before leaving the club because he didn't taste like sweat; he tasted faintly of vanilla and mint. His scent matched, a mingling of musky and sweet that had me inhaling deeply. His fingers dug into my shoulders, urging me on. I complied gladly.

It felt as if he fit perfectly against me, his torso tucked against mine and thighs brushing my hips. My shoulders were just wide enough for me to encircle his waist with my arms comfortably, and he seemed to like having his arms draped around my neck or wrapped around my back. He stroked down my thigh with the inside of one foot, gently prodding at the back of my knee, and I purred in approval.

When I touched his neck with my teeth he sucked in a breath that I could feel through his chest; whether of anxiety or anticipation I couldn't guess, so I pressed on, gently putting pressure on the soft skin. He sighed softly, biting his lip while his breath quickened, so I figured this was good. I treated his neck with kisses and nips, each time a little harder, teasing until I could feel the pulse in his jugular against my lips. His legs tightened around my hips, his thighs holding me there against him so close I could feel his arousal throbbing against mine. It made my breath hitch as a shiver made its way down my spine, and he seemed to have noticed, too, because he somehow managed to hook his ankles together behind me and use my rear as leverage to crush our pelvises together. I grunted and did the same with our lips. He tried to take command, pushing his tongue into my mouth, but I wrestled him back until he let me in and parted his lips wider. The faint taste of alcohol made me wonder if he would do this were he not inebriated, but I'd always heard that drink only exaggerated people: they did what they wanted to instead of being bores, in my opinion. For him to do this, he _wanted_ to.

But it still nagged at me as I probed his mouth with my tongue, seeking every detail I could eke out, rubbing every surface and prodding his tongue so that he would press them together with me, creating a wet, sensitive friction that made my blood run hotter. He groaned, the vibrations delicious, and I broke the kiss. He licked his lip to break the saliva that still linked our tongues as I gave a tiny, impish grin and reached behind me to gently unhook his feet and unwrap his legs from my waist. Kyouya blinked, unsure a moment what I was doing, before he made as if to roll over onto his stomach. It made me frown that he assumed I was planning on that, and had he ever done that before for another man? It was likely but I still had to fight to hold back a low growl. My possessiveness surprised even me, and for a moment I worried that I really was the type he'd been afraid of. Jealous and obsessive. And, truthfully, that was exactly what I was. But I wanted him for him—not for his pole dancing. That was what separated me from the others.

I comforted myself with that thought for a moment before I stood, holding out a hand to help him up. A flicker of concern crossed his eyes but his expression had become unreadable while he stood on his own, looking at me warily. I smirked, glad he was clueless and I'd be able to surprise him. Quickly I took his hand in one of mine and began to draw him back to the door that led to the hall. I remembered that on my left would be the door to the bathroom. At least, I hoped it was the bathroom or this would be really awkward.

He still seemed confused until I pushed the door open carefully and led him inside. I shut the door behind us despite that no one was going to come into the apartment, creating a more intimate atmosphere while I bent over without explanation to turn on the shower faucet. His bathroom was typical of a Japanese bathroom as well, almost unbelievably average; there was a little room with the toilet that was walled off and had a door to the shower, which was basically twice as big, walled entirely with waterproof tile, and had a showerhead that could be moved around. When I turned back to him he looked a little cautious, like I was doing something alien, but it quickly faded as I backed him against a wall and put my hands on his hips. He tilted his head back, waiting for me to kiss him, but with a grin I only tugged his boxers low enough that they slid down his calves. Kyouya blinked and frowned in puzzlement at the abrupt movement, but shivered when I did the same with my own. He bit his lip and looked down at the part of me I'd uncovered. My ego was thoroughly stroked by his shiver.

Showers were sexy and a good place for foreplay, but admittedly, that wasn't my only reason for being there. As much as I hated the idea of his scent being marred by any new shampoo or soap, I wanted to be able to not feel guilty in the morning. The shower would sober him; he would be totally able to make his own decisions after a few minutes here, to say stop or continue, but that didn't mean we'd have to pause in the meantime. I guided him by his hips so we both stood under the water. In a moment both our hair were drenched, his hanging a little longer so it was almost in his eyes. I brushed it back so it didn't interfere with my view of those silver irides and sultry lashes and pressed our lips together. He moaned, obviously as pleased as I was by the warm water. It hit me that I'd have seemed like an idiot if his apartment didn't have a water heater but it was too late to be upset about that. His arms wrapped around my shoulders as my hands caressed his back, my fingertips playing over his skin until I reached the nape of his neck.

Slowly I worked my way downwards, drawing soft spirals and caresses along his spine and shoulder blades, eventually deepening the touch until it was more than just a brush. I rubbed his skin, feeling the muscles that tightened and relaxed beneath while he gave little sighs of pleasure into my mouth. When my hands reached his lower back, still massaging smoothly, he shivered hard and made a little mewl that seemed to surprise even him. I drew my head back, noting how his eyes were more focused, more awake; the shower seemed to be working on all counts. He still wasn't rejecting me, though, which was encouraging. Perhaps, even sober, Kyouya would have done this. My hands reached his hips while his shivering increased, almost a trembling while his breathing became ragged.

I massaged his hips and gingerly moved my hands back so my fingers rubbed his rear. He leaned forward against me, putting his weight on me to relax beneath my hips. Maybe it was going to his hips. That thought made me chuckle lightly. Doing this was getting increasingly difficult. The pain between my own hips was growing into an overwhelming need for relief, a source of desire that made me curse my own sentimentality and wish I would put him on the tile and fuck him then and there. But I didn't know what he would want after we finished, and I didn't want to leave yet if he would kick me out. My fingers crept closer together across his rear until I gently caressed the entrance I'd had yet to claim. He gasped, the sound muffled against my chest, and hung a little tighter to my shoulders. With wet fingers I trailed a little circle around it, teasing him ruthlessly and ever the more aroused by his panting and small groans. Finally I knew I wouldn't be able to take it anymore if I continued.

"Lie down," I whispered into his ear. He did it without hesitation, letting go of my neck and hitting the ground perhaps fast enough that it really had gone to his hips. He was leaned back on his elbows until I twirled my finger in a motion for him to roll over. He did so, though he raised his hips like an offering, his legs spread enough to show the pearlescent pink of his—_my_, at least for tonight—entrance. Kyouya even slid a hand between his legs and used two fingers to spread himself, leaving him even more open for me, and he glanced back at me over his shoulder lustfully.

The sight made me groan from the desire that welled up in me, driving my throbbing arousal even more painful. Before I gave into it I reached out and quickly laid his hips against the ground, letting him put his arm in a more comfortable position, while he groaned in disappointment. "Just do it," he moaned softly.

"Not yet," I told him breathlessly. "This will last as long as possible." My fingers ran down his thighs, brushing the inner skin that made him stifle a moan. His hips began to arch again, though this time it seemed like he didn't realize he was doing it. I tried to still my breathing and slow my heart, sure it would burst if it continued like this, and began to massage the backs of his thighs. He sighed softly when I brushed certain places, and his toes had curled by the time I reached the backs of his knees. There his legs twitched and his thighs began to quiver. At the sight I bit the inside of my cheek hard, distracting myself from my determined need with the sudden pain. He sucked in a breath when I leaned down to kiss the back of one knee and nibbled at the soft curve. His fingers curved against the tiles while he moaned longingly. I only skimmed his calves, impatience beginning to win out, and pressed my fingertips into the heels of his feet before letting them roam down to his arches. Quickly I pulled his leg up so his knee was bent and his foot in the air, and ran the tip of my tongue from his heel to his toes, drawing a circle of saliva on the soft skin between. His toes curled tighter and I gingerly teased them out of their tension with my lips. I kissed the tip of each toe before I slid the big one into my mouth, letting my teeth brush it, and sucked at it. He gasped loudly and his back arched, his head thrown back while he let loose a loud moan that proved to be the end of me.

I let go of his foot and picked up his hips. He spread his legs eagerly, giving a pleased shiver of approval, and I bent at the waist, kneeling between his thighs, to lick at the inviting opening. Obviously surprised, he bucked his hips in an aroused reflex and I gave a short laugh. His hands curled into fists of determination while he steadied his thighs, which quivered hard when my hips brushed the inside of them. Without warning I plunged my tongue into his tight entrance, past the first rim of muscle while he gave a little yelp, and as deep as I could go. My tongue prodded around while my hands helped to hold up his hips, gauging his reactions. Abruptly he yelled, entire body going rigid, and I grinned in satisfaction as I straightened and plunged two fingers into him up to my knuckles. He rocked back against me, eager for more, panting hungrily. I was careful to touch that spot only sometimes as I added a third finger, not wanting to outdo when I would finally enter him—not that fingers could outdo what was pulsing hotly between my thighs, but I didn't want him to finish too early.

With my fingers I thrust a few more times, carefully avoiding his love spot until I pulled them back suddenly and crashed into him just as he opened his mouth to protest my neglect. A yowl escaped his lips of both pain and pleasure and for a second his shoulders relaxed beneath my chest before tensing harder than before. "Cavallone!" he yelled, voice surprisingly crisp despite his struggle for breath. _"Cavallone!"_

"Kyouya," I returned through my own groans, my thrusts gaining momentum and depth. Before I knew it I was up to the hilt, as deep as I could go, and still he was sucking greedily at me, pulling me in, accepting everything I gave into his tight body. He wasn't warm, he was hot enough to scald me, and I could feel the pulses of my arousal and his entrance bouncing off of each other, so hard I was and so tight he was. He didn't object to my use of his name, only moaned louder when I began to roll my hips at a better angle to make contact with his love spot easier. He gasped the first time I rammed directly into it; the second time, his back arched and his hands scrabbled against the tile while his groan grew into a little yell of pleasure. It drew out while I continued, his hips rocking to meet mine and his thighs trembling around me. I held his waist a moment to be sure he had his balance and wrapped my arms around him.

His member was swollen and throbbing in my hand. I rubbed his nipples and stomach with the other while I stroked him, my hand encircling him and pumping in time to my thrusts. Our hips met with little smacks now so that I could hear as the flesh connected and then drew back. The friction between us was maddening, his back against my chest, his entrance around my member, his arousal in my hand, and his thighs against my hips. Our breathing was labored, barely coming at all with the moans we both gave so loudly. My face was buried in the side of his neck as I sucked at the curve of his shoulder, the skin caught between my teeth and my tongue determined to eke out every single taste of sweat I could. His neck and back were flushed and blotched with red and I longed to see his blushing face and beckoning lips. Before he could react I pulled out abruptly, though it took all my willpower, and flipped him onto his back. I hooked his knees around my elbows and plunged back into him as quickly as I could, our chests now pressed together and his arousal tucked against my stomach. He cried out in surprise and pleasure while I rocked into him and pressed our lips together hungrily. My tongue delved into his mouth in an imitation of how our bodies connected, his lips parted and a line of saliva running down his chin. I could feel that he was about to finish, so hot he was on my abs and beginning to twitch while his moans deepened and he sucked my tongue hard.

I wasn't ready to finish; I wanted to feel him, taste him, _own_ him, for longer. If he finished, I knew I still wouldn't be done. I reached between us and gently pulled at the bulge behind his arousal, my fingers sneaking between his thighs. He gasped at such a weird sensation and his back arched. I smiled a little against his lips, plunging my tongue in deeper. That would hold off his climax for a minute or two without lessening his pleasure, at least. His hips bucked against mine, his legs wrapping around me again and holding me inside of him while I rocked in and out, though never leaving him completely.

"What did you do?" he gasped, breaking the kiss just long enough to stare up at me incredulously. My arm snaked behind his back and my fingertips rubbed along his spine, making him shiver, doing intoxicating things to our connection and we both gave a little groan.

"I made it last longer," I purred simply, my voice lower and huskier than it had been for a long time. He sucked in a breath and gritted his teeth when I thrust particularly forcefully, pressing our bodies together and ramming into his love spot while his member was rubbed by my stomach. Now I could feel the heat in my stomach inching downward, that feeling I was aching for, what made me rock faster and harder and want every inch of him I hadn't touched yet, made me yell, _"Kyouya!"_ as I quickened my pace, gasping and panting while his hips bucked against me, and yanked a yell from my lips when I felt hot liquid spill against my stomach and his body clench around me. It jerked that heat lower, sucked it to my hips and then my entire body went so sensitive for a moment I could feel the rub of grout between the tiles against my knees and every drop of sweat gathering between our chests and relief washed over me while the pain was pulled away like a tornado had swept across me and I had been doused with gasoline and set on fire.

Gradually I realized he was saying my name while I lay panting, my face in the side of his neck and my breath heating my upper lip. "Dino," he whispered breathlessly, "Dino." We lay there under the warm water for several minutes without any more words, still connected but not moving. My seed had overflowed and stained his thighs, momentarily shielded from the shower water that would have washed it away. His arms were draped around my neck, his hands entangled loosely in my hair. I hadn't even felt him pull it. My arms were around his waist, holding him against me. His breath on my cheek was what kept me from believing I was dreaming at such complete, overwhelming satisfaction.

When he whispered my name again, his breathing nearly regular and our heartbeats slowed to an even pace, I didn't want to move. His scent was relaxing; I wanted to stay here forever, with this sense of self-actualization, tangled into him and surrounded by his scent. He still smelled like vanilla and blackberries.

But when he began to lightly push at my chest I leaned up, breaking our connection with a little disappointment, and he shuddered when he was left wide open. My knees had cramped but I worked through it while I straightened and helped him sit up. He was wincing, but he didn't seem displeased. We said nothing, only stared at each other for a long time while the water washed away the evidence of our bond but for the marks I'd left on his body. He lifted a hand to gently finger the dark bruise on his neck and I thought I saw the corners of his lips twitch upwards before he became unreadable again.

Finally, reluctant to let us get any prunier, I forced myself to my feet and bent down to help him, my arm around his shoulders. He seemed to consider rejecting my offer for a moment and my heart sank a few inches in my chest, but he accepted it and soon he was on his feet, though unsteady. I helped to support him against my chest while I rubbed his back gently, letting the water wash away all that it had missed while he was on his back, and reached over to turn it off.

There was only one towel on the rack on the other side of the door near the toilet, but another was sitting in a small basket. I smiled a little at the quaintness of it and wrapped one around him softly before I ran the other one through my hair and wrapped it around my waist. Still we said nothing, but oddly enough the silence was comfortable. It wasn't that we didn't want to speak; it was that there was nothing to say that wouldn't cheapen what had just happened.

He didn't disapprove when I laid an arm around his waist and let him lean on my side while I brought him back to his room. Though we were still damp we laid side by side on the futon, our towels abandoned on the floor and covered in a thick blanket. I wrapped my arm around his waist and bit my lip when he rolled so he was facing away, but relaxed as he moved backwards a little bit so we were touching. I breathed in the scent of his hair as he drifted off to sleep, no doubt as exhausted as I was, his gentle breathing evening out gradually until he had to be asleep. I shifted just a little to a comfier spot and closed my eyes to do the same.

Just as I was drifting off he rolled over and laid his cheek on my collarbone. His breath tickled so I opened my eyes inquiringly to find that he was looking up at me—obviously not asleep as I'd thought. "I told you to call me Hibari," he mumbled softly.

I blinked, confused. "What?"

"In the shower. You used my given name again."

I stared at him for a long moment before lifting a hand to play with a lock of his hair. His irides seemed to glow in the dull light from the covered window and I could barely make out his outline. "You called me Dino," I finally said, purring at him. He wrinkled his nose a little and I couldn't help but think it was adorable. "We're even. So as long as I call you Kyouya, you can call me Dino."

And though that logic was obviously a little flawed, he didn't object. "Fine," he grunted as he closed his eyes again.

A smile was tugging at my lips. "Kyouya?" I tried carefully.

His eyes opened and I thought one eyebrow arched silently.

"Why don't we go to a real restaurant on Saturday?" I asked him, trying to hide my hopefulness.

For a long time he was quiet. Then he stretched luxuriously, laid an arm over my stomach, and muttered, "As long as you're paying."


End file.
